Love or Something Like It
by Leslie N
Summary: Ch2. The next heir to the Doumyouji Empire, Doumyouji Daisuke, has come of age! Cue screaming fan girls, desperate mothers… and one extremely disinterested Aoike Kyoko…
1. We Are All Friends, Right?

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**DISCLAIMER**: Oooh! Lookie! There's a copy of the document for Leslie N's intellectual property rights for Hana Yori Dango! Wait a minute… that's just air.

Yeah. I own nada. :(

The title is derived from the 2002 film 'Life or Something Like It', directed by Stephen Herek and starring Angelina Jolie. I haven't watched it, but from what I do know, this story will have no bearing to the film whatsoever.

**SUMMARY**: The next heir to the Doumyouji Empire, Doumyouji Daisuke, has come of age! Cue screaming fan girls, desperate mothers… and one extremely disinterested Aoike Kyoko…

**RATING**: PG-13/T for occasional potty mouth and constant victimisation of Kyoko's underwear.

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**LOVE OR SOMETHING LIKE IT**

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**CAST OF CHARACTERS**

_Aoike Kyoko_ (15), daughter of Aoike Kazuya and Asai Yuriko

_Amakusa Ichiru_ (16) , son of Amakusa Seinosuke and Kurimaki Ayano

_Doumyouji Daisuke_ (16), son of Doumyouji Tsukasa and Makino Tsukushi

_Mimasaka Ryouma_ (16), son of Mimsaka Akira

_Mimasaka Yukira_ (16), daughter of Mimsaka Akira

_Nishikado Yoshiko_ (15), son of Nishikado Soujiro

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**Chapter One:**

**We're All Friends, Right?**

-

"A Fanclub?"

Aoike Kyoko was stupefied.

"Eitoku Gakuen has a FANCLUB?"

No. Aoike Kyoko was outraged. Bolting upright from her seat, she stared out the window to the colourful store erected at the corner of the block where the driveway leading to Eitoku Gakuen began.

"Of course Eitoku has a fan club," Aoike Yuriko said in a bored tone. "It started in my year, after all. I know the president actually." Leisurely, Yuriko poured herself a glass of water from the mini-bar. "Don't you think it is disgraceful? Kyoko? She turns forty this year, too."

Kyoko slumped back into her seat, burying her face in her hands. "I can't believe this," she muttered.

"Sit up straight, Kyoko," her mother snapped. "Now do you know how lucky you are for this opportunity?"

"Lucky?" Kyoko spluttered. Despite not wanting to enter this argument again, she simply couldn't help herself. She glared at her mother. "Don't even—"

"Lucky," repeated Yuriko imperiously. "The Doumyouji eldest son is in your very year! He's still single, so I hear."

"I have a boyfriend," Kyoko retorted.

Yuriko sipped her water, her eyes burning. "His father's a cook," she sniffed.

"An internationally acclaimed chef," Kyoko corrected. "His mother won Miss Teen of Japan in 1989. His grandfather was Prime Minister—"

"You could do better, Kyoko," Yuriko said, cutting her daughter off just as the car stopped at the steps leading up to the main entrance.

Fuukamori, the driver, opened the door. Kyoko murmured her thanks as she shouldered her bag. At the unexpected weight, Kyoko glanced down. To her dismay, instead of the hand-decorated satchel Ichi had given her, she found herself lugging fashionable blue denim brand-name bag. But before she could get her actual bag back or complain, Fuukamori hastily shut the door and had lunged back inside the car.

Kyoko fumed as she watched the car pull away. Reluctantly, she turned around to look up to the school that loomed before her.

Eitoku Gakuen was undeniably beautiful. It was almost like a castle, with lush gardens, arched corridors and sweeping staircases laden with climbing, flowering trellis. For all its beauty, however, Kyoko had a bitter taste at the back of her throat as she considered its glory.

"Kyoko-chan…"

Startled at the sound of her name when no one here could possibly know who she was, Kyoko spun around to see a grinning Amakusa Ichiru. Resplendent in the blue Eirin uniform, he had one hand tucked insouciantly in his trouser pocket. She hadn't even noticed him, though he was leaning on the patch of wall right beside her.

She immediately reached out and grabbed a handful of his blazer. "Why are you here?" she demanded, half giddy with a pleasant sense of elation and shock. "You'll be late for school!"

"We've still got half an hour," he said, grinning. "Dad offered to drive me today. He was won over by the prospect of young love."

At the thought of Ichi's father waiting several streets away, Kyoko blushed. "You didn't have to," she muttered.

Ichi gave her a look. "Of course I had to," he said. "What happens if the first person you see when you walk in through those gates is Doumyouji Daisuke? If I'm not careful, you'll be seduced away by the all conquering sex appeal of the Doumyouji family." He sighed gustily. "I'll be sad and alone and pining after you forever more."

"What kind of girl do you think I am?" Kyoko demanded, smacking him. "I should be worried about you! All those Eirin girls and their short little skirts and their tendency to run around everywhere so that said skirts flip up and…"

"The only skirt I'm interested in looking up is yours," Ichi teased.

Kyoko tugged her skirt further down. "Pervert," she hissed.

Ichi chuckled. "It's just that I don't plan on joining the long list of lovers spurned in preference of those Doumyoujis," he told her. "So I'm working extra hard."

She smiled at him. "Oh? How so?"

In a great display of showmanship, he unveiled the item he had come to give her. It was a little boxed package. "Open it," he told her.

Tentatively, Kyoko eased up the lid. Inside, there was a strawberry cream cake in the shape of a heart. "Did you make it?" she asked, awed.

He nodded.

Her mouth near watered at the prospect at tasting the cake. Ichi, just like his father, was an excellent cook. "Can I eat it now?" Kyoko asked excitedly.

"Of course," said Ichi. Carefully, he eased the cake out of the box and held it to her.

Kyoko took a bite, and then another. As the taste settled in her tongue, she sighed. "This is wonderful!" she told him blissfully. "I can taste cinnamon," she told him. "And a little hint of red bean."

"I thought to add a few twists here and there," Ichi said, a glimmer of amusement in his eye.

At the fifth bite, Kyoko suddenly felt something hard underneath her teeth. Drawing away, she stared at the edge of a box that was poking from the cake. "Wow," she said, not knowing what else to say. She felt like a cup of light overflowing.

"Finish the cake first," Ichi said, grinning.

Kyoko hated to rush through good food, but there simply was no time. Savouring the morsel as hastily as she could, she licked the final crumb from the tip of her index finger. "I love presents," she sighed.

The present turned out to be a delicate white-gold necklace with an amethyst pendant the size of the iris. Ichi helped her fasten it on. "It's a first-day-of-school present," he told her.

"But I haven't got anything for you!"

Ichi just smiled and brought her close. But just as he inclined his head towards hers, his other pocket rumbled. He groaned. "That's Dad," he said disappointedly. "I've got to go." Hurriedly, he kissed her on the forehead, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip. "Good luck!" he called, turning back one last time before walking away.

"You too!" Kyoko responded. It was Ichi's first day in Eirin as well.

Overhead, the clock face on the highest turret of the Eitoku building chimed eight fifteen. Kyoko sighed and squared her shoulders.

It was time.

-

The difference between junior school mathematics and senior school mathematics was purely aesthetic. At first.

Kyoko appreciated the plush material of the chair as she sat down to sit her first class. The top of the wooden table was so polished she could practically see her reflection.

Students were still entering the classroom after the introductory assembly. Throughout the speeches given by the faculty and representative students, Kyoko had been uncomfortably aware that practically all of the audience's attention was riveted to the seat three spaces in front of her. There, Doumyouji Daisuke reclined like a golden deity, basking in limelight as though he was getting a tan in the sun.

Just as her thoughts reminisced this disgruntling matter, the boy himself sauntered into the classroom. Immediately, whispering raced around the room.

One girl with hair perfectly coiffed in smooth curls stood up from her seat, her chair scraping against the carpet. "Doumyouji Daisuke-sama," she said loudly, as she struck a pose. "My name is Hinashi Fuuko. My measurements are 32-21-31." She actually twirled to show off said figure before continuing. "Please give me the honour of your company, Doumyouji-san!"

Her bravery elicited a horde of copycats. Instantly, eight other chairs pushed back and introductions were made.

Interested despite herself, Kyoko watched very carefully for Doumyouji's reaction. His father's temper had been legendary. The son, however…

Doumyouji Daisuke smiled, to devastating consequence for the female respiratory system. "I am honoured," he said, bowing slightly, "Hinashi-san, Yushira-san…" He rattled off the list of names, much to everyone's astonishment. "However," he concluded, "I am obliged to refuse."

"Oi, Daisuke," said one of the boys behind him. "Where are we meant to sit?"

Another series of sighs echoed around the room. It was the famed Nishikado Yoshiko, boy genius. In addition to his acclaimed family name and his already evident philandering tendencies, his selection for the International Math Olympiad upcoming in August was widely known.

"You ask the stupidest questions, Yoshi," the girl next to him said disdainfully. "In the empty seats, obviously."

Her name was Mimasaka Yukira. Predictably, she was tall and beautiful, with hair that swung to her waist and surprisingly heavy lidded eyes for her oriental features. However, such facts were not important in comparison to…

"That's nice." The last of the foursome leant against the doorway. He was busily texting away on his mobile phone. "They've left seats for us. Four in a row."

Mimasaka Ryouma. The jewel of the Mimasaka family. Unsurprisingly, he was notorious for his playboy antics, even at the young age of sixteen. It was not so much how many he bedded, as compared to who he bedded. It was strongly rumoured that Ryouma was already a prominent figure in the criminal underworld.

Kyoko had picked a seat in the front to specifically avoid being part of the kafuffle. But as the four strolled to their seats, she reluctantly played spectator along everyone else. Doumyouji, the gentleman, pulled out Yukira's seat for her. As Yukira grinned at him and he winked back, all the girls in the class (Kyoko included) sucked in a breath and wondered. Were they or weren't they?

Before any further speculation could occur, however, the maths teacher walked into the room. Placing down his folio on the desk, he turned to the chalk board and scrawled his name in bold characters on the board.

NAKIDA TAMAKI, the kanji read.

Pushing his glasses up to sit high on the bridge of his nose, Tamaki-sensei observed the students. "In your desks in front of you," he intoned, "you will find a copy of your textbook, Year One Mathematics, Volume One."

In all the excitement of what was surely to become the new F4, no one had noticed the dull, staid textbook that lay right beneath their noses. There were a few grumbles and surprised mutters.

Following the instructions, Kyoko flipped to the first page and signed her name in the allocated box with a flourish.

The school year had truly begun.

-

"Bowly."

Hinashi Fuuko stared fixedly at the unnerved Kyoko. The bell had rung for the end of class. Oddly enough, Fuuko had bee-lined straight towards Kyoko's direction.

"I beg your pardon?" Kyoko gaped.

"Your bag," Fuuko said, pointing. She clasped her hands together in a longing fashion. "Monogram Denim from the Louis Vuitton Summer '07 collection. It is designed by Marc Jacobs. It costs one thousand two-hundred and sixty pounds, which is in Japanese yen—"

"Thank you," Kyoko said stiffly, cutting Fuuko off before she could recite any more statistics.

"So what does your father do?" Fuuko asked chattily.

"Investment banking," said Kyoko.

Fuuko became a little warmer. "Really? Which company?"

"Citigroup," Kyoko said automatically.

Fuuko's eyes widened. Kyoko could practically see mental charts hovering in the air as Fuuko ticked and crossed acceptability boxes. Finally, Fuuko straightened and beamed. It seemed that Kyoko had passed the test.

"My name is Hinashi Fuuko. Second daughter to the Hinashi family." She did not elaborate on this, as though the Hinashi family was renowned enough to be automatically known. Kyoko would late discover that the Hinashi family owned a big shipping company. "You may call me Fuuko-chan," she concluded graciously.

Kyoko somehow managed to smile. "Aoike Kyoko," she said, standing up and shaking the proffered hand. "Kyoko-chan, if you like, Fuuko-chan," she added weakly.

"I love your bag, Kyoko-chan," Fuuko purred, as she linked her arm through Kyoko's. "What a wonderful way to make a statement! And I thought I was ostentatious for bringing my Prada!"

Kyoko gritted her teeth at this thinly veiled insult. She knew better, however, than to try an insult of her own. Instead she smiled sweetly and stayed silent.

"Investment banking pays quite well, does it?" Fuuko continued. "Which must be good for you. It's so hard these days, don't you think? When things are dated for more than a season, you wouldn't have a clue on whether the item is genuine or not…" She leaned closer to Kyoko. "You see Oshimura-san over there?" she whispered. "That Gucci is definitely fake. I saw the lining when she opened the bag to get her compact. It was absolutely blank."

Again, Kyoko had nothing to say.

Fuuko heaved a sigh. "I mean, she couldn't even afford a good fake," she said cattily. "God, I would hate being that poor."

Ten minutes later, when the two girls mingled more and clustered in a group of ten, Fuuko repeated this story again. By the time she finished, Oshimura in the corner, close enough to eavesdrop, was milk white. As the group burst into laughter, she fled the room.

Pretty pig-tailed Kitani Haruna smirked. "So what odds would you place?" she asked everyone. "Eight on the fact she'll have all her exit forms signed by tomorrow?"

Eight thousand yen. This was implicitly understood.

"There's no point in putting a wager on something that's guaranteed to happen," drawled Fukori Keisuke, ruffling through his hair.

"You can't be sure of that sort of thing these days," Fuuko murmured.

"That kind of thing hasn't happened in Eitoku since—" began Haruna.

Makino Tsukushi. Precisely twenty-two ago. Upon pondering on that topic, a better one came to mind.

"We are so lucky," tiny Harida Natsumi sighed, "to be in the very same year as the F4!"

"It's about time," Fuuko said. "I heard the year after three of the F4 married, the birth rates tripled—"

To plunge down miserably the next year, Kyoko thought. This was an oft-quoted statistic from her mother.

The girls in the circle were now eying each other, syrupy sweet smiles still on their mouths. They were sizing each other up. Eyes flickered to consider height, guessing at possible weight. The lustre of hair was examined, as was the clearness of skin and the state of hands and clothes.

"Why did you choose Eitoku Gakuen, Haruna-chan?" Yushira Nabiki asked, in a very smooth tone.

"It must have been for the very same reason you chose Eitoku Gakuen, Nabiki-chan," Haruna cooed back.

"Eitoku Gakuen has a very good law school," Keisuke said at once. "That's why I'm here."

Haruna smiled falsely. "As am I, Keisuke-kun."

"We are all friends here, right?" Nabiki asked sweetly. "Friends are always honest, which is why I shall be very honest with you," she said. "I am here save our nation!"

The fervour in which Nabiki said this had everyone goggling.

"May we ask how, Nabiki-chan?" Fuuko ventured.

"I plan to marry Doumyouji-sama, of course," Nabiki stated matter-of-factly, "and reverse our country's plummeting birth rates."

Fuuko's smile became distinctly plastic. "What do you know?" she purred. "That's why I came here as well!"

There was a murmur of agreement from very many people.

"Nabiki-chan," Fuuko said. "I shan't hold that against you at all! In fact, since we're working at the same goal, we should even help each other!"

"Of course, Fuuko-chan!" Nabiki responded hastily. "May the best woman win."

Hinashi Fuuko smiled. "Well, that's given," she said confidently.

-

"Kyoko!"

"ARGH!"

"I see you're enjoying Eitoku very much indeed." Ichi's voice was amused.

Kyoko leant her forehead against the cool brick of the stairwell, cradling her phone to her ear. "How's Eirin?" she asked wearily.

"No flipping skirts quite yet, but I'm still waiting," he told her.

"You look up one skirt, buddy," Kyoko hissed in a threatening tone.

Ichi chuckled. "Where are you now? It's pretty quiet."

"At some set of stairs," Kyoko sighed. "It took me at least ten minutes to find somewhere deserted. There's nowhere else in the entire school which doesn't have at least two people sitting in the corner giggling about Doumyouji Daisuke."

"Really?" Ichi was amused.

"There's an entire legion of girls with visions of puffy white dresses and ten Doumyouji children," Kyoko told him exasperatedly. "He's never around without at least three people surrounding him and trying to get him to impregnate them…"

"Must make class hard," Ichi commented.

"They could be a little quieter about it," Kyoko said unhappily.

"What would the fun be in that?" Ichi laughed once again.

"So where are you?" she asked him.

"In a little private alcove," he murmured. "It's actually quite easy to find an isolated niche in Eirin. I was just thinking about it, when I was trying to decide which one to settle in. All those opportunities for semi-public groping…"

"Perhaps it is a good thing I'm in Eitoku," she returned solemnly. "My virtue is guaranteed to remain intact."

Ichi chortled riotously. "As long as the sight of Doumyouji Daisuke doesn't make your panties melt."

Even though it was just a phone conversation, Kyoko crimsoned. "You!" she said furiously after moments of spluttering. "Don't even think about my underwear, you perverted bastard!"

"But I think about them constantly," Ichi said, sighing gustily.

"I'm hanging up on you," Kyoko threatened.

"How can you be so heartless?" Instantly, Ichi was desolate. "Kyoko-chan…" he whined.

Kyoko was very heartless indeed.

She hung up.

Only to call Ichi back mere seconds later.

"Hi, stranger," she said.

She could almost see his smile over the phone.

"Hi back," he replied.

-

At one thirty in the afternoon, Aoike Kyoko woke from her reverie involving herself, a certain Amakusa Ichiru and a deserted beach. She found herself face to face with Doumyouji Daisuke.

She looked at him.

He smiled back at her. "Your pen, Aoike-san."

She blinked.

"Your pen." He held it up. "You dropped it."

Kyoko started as she realised that the golden pen Doumyouji Daisuke held in his hand was actually hers. "Oh, my pen," she said, barely hiding her mortification at her zoning out. "Thank you, Doumyouji-san."

"Aoike Kyoko, you little minx!" Fuuko hissed to her the moment Doumyouji had returned to his seat.

"What?"

"Dropping your pen like that and MAKING Doumyouji-san pick it up! I thought you had a boyfriend!"

"I do have a boyfriend!" Kyoko said at once. "And I didn't deliberately drop my pen! It was an accident!"

"Of course," Fuuko said, shaking her head and smiling superiorly. "Aren't you terribly clever?"

Approximately ten minutes later, in the midst of a lecture about cell walls, Fuuko wailed. "Oh no! My Bvalgari earrings!"

The said earrings, golden hoops picked with diamonds, were approximately half a foot from Daisuke's desk. So of course, he stood, picked them up and handed them back to Fuuko.

"Thank you, Doumyouji-san," Fuuko breathed, as if he had rescued her from the flames of a burning mansion.

Of course Nabiki, in the name of 'friendly competition', had to one-up Fuuko.

It was a beautiful autumn day, with not a breath of breeze in sight. But somehow… just somehow, at two forty-seven, a gust of wind blew Nabiki's aquamarine-edged white Hermes scarf right onto Doumyouji Daisuke's face.

"I'm terribly sorry!" gasped Nabiki, hands on her delicately flushed cheeks.

"It's all right." Daisuke managed a weak grin.

Nabiki had to stand and walk over to Daisuke's desk to take back her scarf. "Doumyouji-san," Nabiki began bashfully. "I was wondering. Do you like the scent on the scarf?"

Daisuke sniffed obligatorily. "Very nice," he said approvingly.

"Amoureux Seulement De Toi," Nabiki told him breathlessly. "Only In Love You You. That," she added, as Daisuke's grin became slightly strained, "is the name of the perfume."

Hinashi Fuuko seethed.

-

**Notes and blah blah**:

_So, what do you think:)_

_I should say now that there are probably inaccuracies with the minor details. Firstly, I disclaim ANY statistic on Japanese birth rates. I do know they are low, but other than that… everything mentioned in this fic is fictional! Also, I'm not French or Japanese or in vogue with fashion. If any of the details or translations, such like, are wrong, just pm or review me and I'll change them right away!_

- Thank you BB for your correction of my dodgy (tryhard) French. :p

_For general interest, most of the names of the characters are picked at random. The on-purpose ones, however, have no bearing to the characters of those manga._

_DAISUKE: from DNAngel. Thus, cue the obligatory Daisuke/Daisuki jokes. :p_

_KYOKO: Skip Beat! _

_FUUKO: From 'Fuu', Parfait Tic_

_ICHIRU: From 'Ichi', Parfait Tic_

_NABIKI: Ranma 1/2_

_The 'old generation' will of course make their presence felt. And yes, the absence of Hanazawa Rui on the paternity list IS significant, though I'm making a big assumption that all these people got pregnant/impregnated at the same time, but w/e. :p Call it literary license!_

_Reviews are the love:)_

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	2. Curiouser and Curiouser

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**DISCLAIMER**: Leslie N owns not Hanadan. :(

**SUMMARY**: How could one not desire the glory that is the Doumyouji Empire, embodied by of-age heir, Doumyouji Daisuke? That Aoike Kyoko is utterly disinterested is Very Suspicious indeed. Ch2. Kyoko is accused of plotting a Slow-Impending-Method-of-Attack! Why are all the signs there?

**RATING**: PG-13/T.

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**LOVE OR SOMETHING LIKE IT**

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**Chapter Two **

**Curiouser and Curiouser**

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"Kyoko?" Aoike Yuriko rapped on Kyoko's bedroom door imperiously. "May I come in, darling?"

"Of course," Kyoko murmured. Slipping a place holder between the pages of her maths book, she hastily packed up her school work. Her mother hated seeing a girl strain her mind too much. Yuriko thought it was terribly unfeminine to be intellectual.

Striding in, Yuriko took a perch on Kyoko's bed, her eyes scanning the room before falling on the blue denim Louis Vuitton bag that lay on the bed close by her. It had been unpacked, wiped down and made ready to return. Her mouth dipped into a frown. "I would like you to have that bag, Kyoko," she said crisply.

Kyoko steeled herself for conflict. "No," she said firmly. "I won't have it. I won't use it," she added, her tone reasonable.

"Of course you'll use it," Yuriko sniffed. "You'll use it for school."

"No," Kyoko repeated. "I won't use it." She pushed her fringe back from her eyes, groping for one of the many bobby pins that scattered on her desk. Sliding it to secure her hair, she looked on warily as her mother played with the tasselled cover of the bedspread. "I'm going to school for academic purposes," Kyoko continued. "Not to compete in Eitoku fashion stakes."

"Going to Eitoku Gakuen is synonymous with competing in the fashion stakes," Yuriko said haughtily. "I presume such an accessory was well noticed today?"

"Yes," Kyoko muttered through gritted teeth.

"See?" Yuriko said smugly. "I knew it would help you make friends."

Kyoko groaned. "I didn't make friends, Mother. My bag did. There's a distinct difference."

Yuriko waved this comment away carelessly. "Things would be exactly the same in any high school you go to," she declared. "Perhaps even worse. At least in Eitoku, there won't be any middle classers with nouveau riche pretensions." She wrinkled her nose.

Kyoko just stifled a scathing retort. The Aoike family was barely second generation. "I wouldn't be able to keep up," she said instead, returning to the former argument. "They'll expect me to one-up next season, you know."

"And one up you shall!" Yuriko responded at once.

"Mother!" Kyoko spread out her hands, exasperated. "We can't afford that!"

"Money," Yuriko said severely, "is not an issue in this matter."

"Money is always an issue," Kyoko muttered. She spun that to her desk, studying the grains of the wood blindly. There was never much use in arguing to Yuriko about finances. It was men's talk, she was fond of saying. Women _spent_. She refused to let her husband talk about any subject related to money, unless it had to do with uninhibited spending. As a result, Kyoko knew very little about the details of how the Aoike finances worked. However, she knew that her family could afford her schooling at Eitoku. They could afford the mandatory extras of such schooling, but the real burden of the finance lay on maintaining the essential necessities: the two holiday villas in Atami and Kyoto, the penthouse at Central in Hong Kong; the two maids, one butler (who doubled as the chauffeur).

Kyoko understood that the Aoike family did not have money for lavish spending. They skimped on the important things. Food, on most evenings, was dismally plebeian. Fuukamori was the only Japanese—thus the only decently paid—member of their staff.

"You didn't mention much about school this evening," Yuriko said in a pleasant voice after a long moment of silence.

Kyoko sighed. "I talked about it for well over half an hour."

"Twenty five minutes," her mother corrected. "And barely seconds more. You didn't mention Doumyouji Daisuke once!"

"There wasn't nothing to say," Kyoko said bluntly.

"Did you try talk to him?"

"And degrade myself like everyone else?" Kyoko snorted.

Yuriko's eyes sharpened. "Everyone else?"

This comment instantly triggered Kyoko's irritation. "Everyone," she groaned. "There's always someone by his side, offering to help him blow his nose or fetch his books or something. It's pathetic."

"Those girls," Yuriko said in precise tones, "have their priorities ordered, Kyoko. As you should." She whacked the tin of powder she was holding on Kyoko's dresser. "Be realistic, Kyoko…"

"I am realistic!" Kyoko snarled. "It's you…" Then, realising how abruptly she had lost her temper, she pressed her lips together. "I'm sorry, Mama," she said in a quieter tone. "That was disrespectful."

Yuriko's gaze sharpened. "Aren't you the good girl, Kyoko?" she said in a softly mocking tone. "But if you really did respect me, you would do exactly as I say."

There was so much Kyoko wanted to say, so much she needed to say. But she knew she would never find to opportunity to speak the words of her heart to her mother. Yuriko shot her down before she could even try.

"You're so naïve to the world, Kyoko," Yuriko said, before Kyoko could reply. "How could you possibly believe your little romance with Amakusa Ichiru will last? Weasel your way into Doumyouji Daisuke's heart while you can, Kyoko."

"What makes you think I'm capable?" Kyoko found herself asking in a last shot at rebellion.

Aoike Yuriko, formerly Asai Yuriko, merely smiled at her reflection in the mirror. "Because you're exactly the type of girl Doumyoujis would fall in love with." She surveyed her daughter through the mirror, her eyes running to Kyoko's blunt cut hair that fell mid-back and big bewildered eyes. "It may take awhile for him to see you, but when he does, he'll know."

At these words, Kyoko had the strangest feeling of unsettlement in her stomach. "Whatever do you mean?"

Yuriko merely shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Well, Amakusa Ichiru fell for you, didn't he?"

-

Kyoko fumbled with the lock in her locker, her mind over brimming with colourful expletives. Even after a month and a bit of using the locker, she still had difficulty with it. It usually took minutes to tackle. Just as it gave under her fingers, her mobile phone rang. As she grabbed her shoes from her locker, she slid open her phone. "Ichi?"

"Hey." His voice was soft and husky over the phone. "How did your day go?"

"As good as it could, I suppose," she replied, kneeling down to unfasten her shoe laces. "How about you?"

"It was all right," he replied.

"Kana-chan wants to change venues for ice cream," she told him, "so we'll be going pass Aji-Ichiban. I wanted to get some Melty-kiss. Did you want anything?"

"Get a large pack," he told her. "I want some too."

"Anything else?"

"Not that I can think of," he said regretfully.

She smiled. "I'll talk to you later then, okay?"

Exchanging good byes, she hung up. Just as she shut her locker, however, Fuuko and the others wandered over. Fuuko's expression was smug. Nabiki looked cross.

"Kyoko-chan!" Fuuko greeted chirpily. "Guess what?"

Kyoko had many guesses, but none that would be civil to say. She relied on the fallback reaction—a sweet smile. "I couldn't possibly guess," she said instead. "What?"

As she saw the F4 sauntering over, she realised exactly what. The F4, miraculously enough, had taken to 'mingling' with their fellow students. There would be times when Yukira could be seen sharing Pocky with the front-row 'academic enthusiasts' (read: nerds), or the boys would play a bit of lunchtime soccer with the second and third years. While in three days of five (Nabiki's count), they would always stick together in their little niche in the cafeteria, the other two days were those in which members of the F4 could be found everywhere and anywhere.

Fuuko had been loudly considering for some time a 'cosy get-together' after school. It seemed she had finally found the guts to ask.

"A group of us are going out for food and K," Nabiki cut in quickly, jerking her head indicate the F4 was included too. "You in?"

Kyoko internally winced. She actually wouldn't have minded going, and if she hadn't had prior engagements, she certainly would have gone. She didn't want to completely exclude herself. Being mainstream was much easier than being out. "Sorry," she said, genuinely regretful. "I'm busy."

"Come on," Fuuko said, rolling her eyes. "Your Ichi-sama can possibly spare you for one day…"

"Not Ichi, actually," Kyoko mumbled. "I…"

"Oh Kyoko, you!" Fuuko gasped. "You're cheating on Amakusa Ichiru?"

"Amakusa who?" Having ambled over, Yoshiko slung a companionable arm around Haruna. She abruptly turned red and dissolved into giggles.

"Amakusa Ichiru," Fuuko supplied eagerly, quite giggly herself. "He's supposed to be this girl's boy, but we aren't so sure anymore…"

"I'm meeting with one of my junior school friends," Kyoko told them, her voice barely steady. She was embarrassed and offended. "Hinami Kana. A girl. Now, if you don't mind, I don't want to me late." Managing a taut smile, she shouldered her bag and began walking off.

"She's very touchy about him," she heard Fuuko say.

"Amakusa, as in the chef, Amakusa Seinosuke?" Ryouma asked. His voice sounded sleepy, as if he had just woken up and found the conversation of merit.

"The very one!" Nabiki's eager voice was shrill.

"She's dating him?" Yukira's voice was disbelieving. "Are you sure?"

The corridors of Eitoku were so bloody long! Kyoko gritted her teeth and continued walking in as much of a normal pace as she could manage.

"I couldn't believe it myself when she told me," Nabiki's voice was cream-and-honey. "But she phones him almost every hour…"

There were titters.

By the time Kyoko rounded the corner, their voices were now very faint. She let herself slow down for a minute, to shake a little and breathe. However, she refused to be upset. She absolutely refused it.

There was no reason to be upset anyway. She didn't understand why her breathe was coming so short. She refused to acknowledge the heat of the tears in her eyes or the constriction of her throat.

"You're stronger than this, Aoike Kyoko," she told herself firmly, in a barely audible whisper. "You're strong, strong, strong, strong, strong!"

But as strong as she was, there was no stopping what had already happened.

There were toilets located just inside the school entrance. Kyoko simply had to duck in. Luckily, they were empty.

She glared at her teary reflection belligerently. "You dork," she hissed at herself. "There's no reason to cry. None at all."

By the time she was out of the bathroom, she was still a little pale, but otherwise she was calm. Kana was waiting for her nearby at the bus stop.

"Kyoko-chan!" Kana squealed when she saw her. "I can't believe it! You look so good! Your uniform is so cute!"

Hinami Kana was a tiny girl. At just four foot eleven, she had skilfully altered her Kiami Public High School uniform to became as a tightly-fitted ensemble that suited her bubbly cuteness very well indeed. Kyoko upon marvelling at the precise pleats of the short skirt was told that they had to be ironed in every single day.

"I have to touch up during the day too," Kana sighed. "That's why I bring my hair iron."

"Iron?"

Kana laughed and linked her arm through Kyoko's. "So how is Eitoku treating you?" she asked. During all their previous conversations, on the weekends or by phone, Kyoko had always delayed the question, with evasive answers such as: 'I'm not sure yet', or 'ask me in a week'.

Today, however, Kyoko could not bring herself to play the game.

"Well," Kyoko said glumly.

"Just well?" Kana peered at her.

"Nothing bad has happened," Kyoko said with another sigh. "I don't want to complain and sound like a whiny brat."

"But I love whiny brats," Kana said cheerfully. "Why do you think I hang around you? Your closet whiny brat absolutely kills me with hilarity."

Kyoko gave her a look.

"I hang around you for other things as well, such as the eye-candy." This said, Kana grinned. "Speaking of which, how is your delicious Ichiru?"

Kana was so infection, Kyoko couldn't help but smile. "Indescribably delectable," she purred smugly, pealing with laughter when Kana burst into theatrical groans of pain.

"You're so mean! Eye candy is public property, Aoike Kyoko! Tell me all about it! Now!"

-

When Fuuko phoned Kyoko that night, she was all repentant. "Are you okay, Kyoko-chan?" she asked, her voice sweet in the likeness of sincerity. "Nabiki-chan was telling me you were upset this afternoon. Were you upset? Are you still upset?"

"Of course not," Kyoko said, unintentionally duplicating Fuuko's honeyed tones. "Why would I be upset?"

"Are you sure, Kyoko-chan?" Fuuko asked worriedly. "We didn't mean to say the things we did about you and Ichi-kun. Well, I mean, we didn't mean for it to come out the way it did. You and Ichi make a wonderful couple."

"Thank you," Kyoko responded wearily.

"I mean it. You two are the cutest ever," Fuuko said firmly. "So, you aren't even angry at Nabiki-chan? We're friends, aren't we, Kyoko? You can tell me if you are."

"Why would I be angry at Nabiki?" Kyoko laughed lightly. "This all just makes me think, Fuuko-chan. Is my relationship with Ichi too intrusive? I won't talk much about him, if it is…"

"You don't talk about him enough," Fuuko was quick to reply. "I barely know anything about him other than his name!"

The readiness in which she said this convinced Kyoko that Fuuko was definitely lying. Fuuko would have done some research.

"So how did the afternoon go?" Kyoko asked, feeling a headache coming on.

"It was fun!" Fuuko squealed. "You should have been there, Kyoko-chan! Daisuke-kun took us to the best café and treated us all to cake, but that's not all… you absolutely missed it!"

"Missed what?" Kyoko was curious despite herself.

"Haruna," Fuuko sighed, "that little idiot. She was an absolute idiot around Ryouma-kun. She wouldn't stop giggling and saying really stupid things, that idiot," she repeated, with a disdainful sniff.

"I thought she liked Doumyouji-kun," Kyoko said.

"Obviously for the wrong reasons!" Fuuko declared, switching to a tone of outrage. "If she can switch between Ryouma-kun and Daisuke-kun so easily, she mustn't really like either of them!"

"Ryouma's such a playboy though," Kyoko reasoned. "He just has that effect on girls…"

"But what if he tried to hit on you? Would you stay true to Daisuke-kun?" Fuuko asked casually.

"I'm sure you would," Kyoko replied, her tone light and teasing. "And I don't think anyone could tempt me away from Ichiru."

"Of course," Fuuko said buoyantly. Kyoko could almost see her over-enthusiastic nod from over the phone. "It's just that, Kyoko-chan… are you sure you don't like Daisuke?"

"Of course I don't," Kyoko replied. She didn't know whether to be exasperated at Fuuko's persistent questions or relieved that she had finally gotten to the point. "And I can't see why anyone thinks I do," she added.

"Some people," Fuuko said, with significant emphasis on the words to suggest that she wasn't among those petty 'some', "seem to think that you've got a slow-impending method of attack, so to speak."

"Slow-impending method of attack?" Kyoko repeated, stunned.

"You aren't interested at all!" Fuuko explained. "Even the academic enthusiasts get hot and bothered when Daisuke comes around, but you—"

"I have a boyfriend," Kyoko finished resolutely.

"But that never stopped anyone," Fuuko continued. "Do you see that stopping Reika, Emiri, Nanako or Miwa? They'd dump their boyfriends in a second if Daisuke-kun came their way. You should see the way Nanako carries on whenever Daisuke-kun is around. It's absolutely disgraceful."

The very mention of the name recalled the memory of a debauched-looking Hatsune Nanako stumbling late into the last lesson of the day mere weeks ago. A neatly groomed, amused Nishikado Yoshiko had come into the lesson a few minutes later. He hadn't paid any attention to Nanako ever since

Kyoko winced. "I would rather not be like Nanako," she murmured, feeling a little guilty in saying the snarky words.

"Well of course not," Fuuko said at once. "I wasn't suggesting that at all!"

"I absolutely believe you, Fuuko-chan," Kyoko dead-panned.

Fuuko either didn't notice the sarcasm or she ignored it. "I'm just saying, Kyoko-chan, that there have been whispers going around. We are friends, aren't we? You can be honest with me."

Kyoko sighed. "I really like Ichi," she began. "Have I ever told you about how we met?"

"No, but I'd like to know!" Fuuko's bubbly response was immediate.

"He came into the dango store where I was working, last year, and he kept on coming back," Kyoko couldn't help a laugh. "He would make me talk a lot, asking me for detailed description about how the dango was made and what they tasted like… and he would stay there for hours! But he'd buy so much, the store-owner never minded."

"Do you still work, Kyoko-chan?"

"Casually," Kyoko replied. "I sometimes fill in when the usual staff is away. I go there for the memories."

"So Ichiru-kun…" Fuuko's voice trailed off.

"It was gradual," Kyoko said, cupping her chin in her hand as she pondered on the memories. "He asked me out on Valentines day, with a red-bean dango that had a message inside."

"That's so romantic!" Fuuko squealed.

"Do you understand now, Fuuko-chan?" Kyoko asked.

"I think I do." Fuuko sounded hesitant.

"I wish you the best with Doumyouji-kun," Kyoko added. "You and Nabiki-chan both."

"Of course, Nabiki-chan!" Now it was Fuuko's turn for strained laughter.

Kyoko was wary as she and Fuuko exchanged goodbyes. When Fuuko hung up, Kyoko pretended to, while listening very carefully on the line. Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard the distinct click of TWO phones hanging up.

The call had been three way, the third party being most definitely Yushira Nabiki.

-

Surprisingly, time slid by like water over stones. The weather grew steadily more bitter as the weeks and months wore on.

Kyoko's birthday fell on the first week of November. It was actually on a Monday, though Ichi gave her the present in the weekend beforehand. It had been at an afternoon in a café. He had come in fifteen minutes late with a huge canvas bag.

"You aren't to open that until we're about to leave," he instructed.

She goggled at the bag, wondering about what was inside. "Okay," she agreed.

When she did finally open it, she found there was a bag inside the bag. To her shock, she saw the distinctive lettering of 'Christian Dior'. She caught her breath. "You didn't," she gasped, paling.

Ichi gazed at her, not saying a word.

Peeling back the sticky-tape sealing the cardboard opening closed, Kyoko pulled out the small tote inside the bag. It was absolutely beautiful. The leather was among the softest Kyoko had ever touched. She closed her eyes. "You shouldn't have," she whispered. "You really shouldn't have."

"Remember all those afternoons where I was busy?" he asked. "I was working. I—"

Kyoko sucked in a breath and let it out. She was crying. Hastily, she put the bag back into its bag. "Ichiru, you idiot," she said, breathless with tears. "Why did you do that?"

He traced the rim of his cup around and around. "I just didn't want your mum getting you another bag this season. I had to give it to you early."

"We aren't poor," Kyoko said through gritted teeth. She blew her nose.

Ichi looked away. "No," he said. "You aren't."

-

Monday was absolutely unbearable.

The thing about birthdays was that present giving was really an exchange system. Giving a present automatically demanded a present in return, of equal or greater value.

Jewellery was popular. Rings. Earrings. Brooches. Nabiki gave her a pair of earrings with crystal tulips while Fuuko gave her a small Swarovski pig figurine. "The Year of the Pig," she said merrily.

But the pig was distinctly a piggy bank.

It was hard to smile as she starred down at the multi-faceted crystal. Fuuko's expression seemed guileless.

But as the day wore on, the list of present grew bigger. When Kyoko did the mental calculations in her head, her heart plummeted. While she now carried Ichi's Dior bag on her arm, very much still in the game, she knew all too well that she couldn't keep the farce up much longer.

The list was already growing past one hundred thousand yen.

They had ordered cake for her at lunchtime. It was a massive chocolate tiramisu, enough to feed the entire year and more. After everyone sang her happy birthday, Kyoko blew out the seventeen candles amidst whistles and cheers.

"I hope my birthday will be as big as this!" Fuuko chirped in her ear.

Knowing Fuuko, it would be bigger.

In the tizzy of the celebrations, Kyoko found the opportunity to sneak outside. Although she was the birthday girl, they didn't miss her a bit. This was no surprise. There had only been one 'worthwhile' birthday prior to hers, Nabiki's birthday. That had been a massive event as well. The revelry then had thrived on itself. Nabiki's name was hardly ever mentioned.

Kyoko went to the bathroom first. She went to the toilet, washed her hands and contemplated on whether to ring Ichi. But when looking at the bag on her arm, she knew it wouldn't be the right thing to do. He was already worried about her. He understood exactly what she was going through.

It was absolutely embarrassing.

When two other girls entered the bathroom, chattering (and piping birthday wishes), Kyoko quickly exited. She opened her phone and pretended to be talking while her eyes furtively searched for the nearest place to hide in.

She wanted to be alone. She wanted silence.

She found herself at the stairwell. She recognised it because it was the stairwell where she had hid on the first day of school, while talking to Ichi. With little else to do, she walked up the steps to the very top. She was in the top floor of the school. On one side, there was a corridor, leading back to school. On the other side, there were a set of double doors.

At the sound of passing footsteps, Kyoko chose the set of doors. She scurried through and eased the door shut. She listened carefully, waiting until the footsteps passed.

When they finally did, she turned to view her surroundings. To her surprise, she was greeted with a startling silence. There were stairs leading down the side of the building, winding around the school. Looking out, she was viewing the back of the school, the vast sporting fields and the beautiful grounds that lay beyond.

Everything was isolated.

"This is beautiful," she breathed, leaning against the cement ledge. This is perfect! Kyoko thought to herself happily. She had found a place of refuge in Eitoku at last!

Scuttling to the lower flight of stairs, Kyoko happily seated and pulled out the lunch she had packed. She hadn't been able to do this for ages: find time for herself. She felt like laughing aloud, but it seemed a little insane. Instead, she settled for munching her rice and smiling a little idiotically to herself.

In her content, she barely noticed when the door upstairs swung open. She only did realise when footsteps padded towards her direction. As they came nearer, Kyoko froze.

Her mouth full of rice and vegetables, she turned around slowly to see who the intruder was.

Aoike Kyoko choked, spitting out her food.

"Doumyouji Daisuke?"

-

**Notes and blah blah (part two): **

**- **Firstly, major edit! I've switched around Yoshiko and Ryouma's names in the second scene in this chapter. Significantly, Ryouma is the one enquiring about Ichiru.

_Thank you maomai, BB, diana and truth for leaving reviews, and to BB especially for correcting my French:) To you guys, and all readers, I hope you do choose to continue with this story! I'm having (probably irrational) lots of fun fiddling around with the plot. As you (hopefully!) can see, things are about to get very messed up soon. :)_

_I confess my lack of knowledge once again. I'm basing some of my facts on elements of Japan from what I do know about Hong Kong (which is far away from Japan, but, uh… Asian?). If anyone does know of any Japanese sweet shops (and sweets) that I could substitute in place of my clumsy product-placement (so to speak) of HK confectionary chain Aji-Ichiban and Melty-kisses, I'll be very grateful! _

_I have got a little of chapter three written, but as far as I know in the not-so-distant future some of the following events should happen: _

_Kyoko gets very, very angry. Daisuke smirks (at Kyoko, which makes this Very Significant, yes?). Ryouma blackmails a certain heroine into hanky-panky. Kazuya has an affair with Shigure (boy, he sure gets around). Ichiru is perverted. Fuuko one-ups Kyoko with Fendi. Rui drinks tea and falls asleep. _

_Two out of these options is uncertain, while one of these is dead wrong. :) _

-


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